After The Game Of...
by FallenInfluence
Summary: The autobiography of a fictional character's struggle with life, and how it has gone full circle with the help of a simple game.
1. Stage 1: Neverending Story

Stage 1: Neverending Story  
  
I looked at them, jumping around like monkeys on a tiled steel pad. That was my first impression of people playing DDR.  
  
Being on the DDR stage and off the stage are really two completely different views of life. Being who I am, I never try to see the better side of life. When I first saw that stage, that giant block of music blasting machine, I swear that I would never touch it with a ten feet pole, let alone spending the better part of my life becoming one of the best players of the game.  
  
But I did spend the better part of my life on the game, and it's a decision that I will not regret for my entire life. 


	2. Stage 2: Abyss

Stage 2: Abyss  
  
I never liked the arcade much – it's a noisy place filled with seizure inducing monitors and seven year old kids whining for a quick fix out of their parent's pockets. The only reason for me to go there is that my little brother needs my car to get to the arcade, and my parents are all too well inclined to defend my "helpless" little brother's opinions.  
  
So there I was, on a typical tropical Tuesday under the heat of the Californian weather, waiting for my brother to waste his last quarter at some fighting game. And there it was again, that music blasting machine, it's every beat tingling my senses, urging me to go and smash it into chunky fragments.  
  
And then, it said to me,  
  
"Everybody is waiting for you!"  
  
I slid a step back, only to see another person standing casually on the stage, engulfed by the machine. Before my head formed ideas about the idiocy of this fellow human being, something caught my eye.  
  
I meant, the player who… I meant him. I meant…  
  
My dream date playing on a machine designed for geeks and dumb fucks. God sure has his way of making sick, insidious jokes… or so I thought, at least.  
  
As I expected the annoying tune of Butterfly blasting all too loudly through out the arcade, what I heard was a different tune…  
  
"This is radio station CJ, with a world premiere song from Captain Jack… Only You…"  
  
Me? Him? I was in ecstasy. Persuaded by emotions and affections, I swayed myself to the music and got lost in a world where there's only him and I, until my brother yanked at me and shattered the crystal ball of perfect dreams.  
  
Walking out of the arcade, I looked back at the machine, trying to decide if I should give a second opinion about the music monster. The last thing that I heard from it was:  
  
"Your dance is so great, it's like sunshine on a cloudy day!"  
  
California is never short of sunshine, I can tell you that much. 


	3. Stage 3: The Fall

Stage 3: The Fall  
  
On the next day, my math lecturer miraculously decided that it's a good idea to get paid without wasting his time on fifty sleepy students, and so, driven by madness, I've decided to go to the arcade early in the morning to give the music machine a try.  
  
Like everything else that opens in the morning on a working weekday, the arcade was empty. The usual noises and kids disappeared as if I pressed the mute button on the volume remote. Only the DDR machine brings in occasional soft music and silly remarks such as "this is a game that you play with your feet!"  
  
Dumb fuck, I know that I have to use my feet. I've seen people play on you before. I've seen newbies fail. I can see myself failing on a song while trying to stomp like there's ants in my pants. And yet, seeing that I'm there and there's no other games that I'm remotely interested in, I've decided to give it a try.  
  
"One quarter…" I counted.  
  
"Two quarters…"  
  
"DANCE DANCE REVOLUTION!"  
  
Shocked, I slid a step back like last time, only that I found myself landing on the bar behind me. So that's what it's for, besides being a gymnastics bar for some dumb fucks who train their Olympic routines on a dancing machine.  
  
I went through the selections as if I've been playing this game for eons. I shuffled through the list of songs never made known to human kind, and stopped at one that dealt magic into my veins before.  
  
Only You.  
  
Here comes the arrows. Left. Oh shit, I think it's right… oh shit, down. Where's the down arrow… now the arrow is gone… fuck this shitty game… left and right? How the hell am I suppose to go left and…  
  
"You have a hard time today! Wait for your next challenge!"  
  
That's it?  
  
I've had enough of this shit. It is as if I don't get humiliated enough in real life, and I'm some kind of masochist bitch that needs a whipping from some virtual DJs every now and then? Forget about it! Why don't I just grab a pickaxe and…  
  
"Whoa, watch it!"  
  
Another funny virtual remarks by the DJ? What now, I didn't even put quarters in this time! And before I knew it, I forgot that there's half a feet of bevel on the dance pad, and I fell. 


	4. Stage 4: Midnight Blaze

Stage 4: Midnight Blaze  
  
I expected myself hitting the hard floor and a kid who scammed out of nowhere would point a finger and go "ha-ha!". Instead, I found myself within the arms of someone I'd never forget about. But he was not "him". If only I fell into "his" arms…  
  
"Are you all right?" a pretty smile… blonde hair, round face. At least he's friendly.  
  
"I… guess I am." I jutted the words out of my mouth, and withdrew myself quickly to regain my cool posture.  
  
"Exhausted already, I see?" he smiled again. It really was a pretty smile, I had to admit, "It happens when you are new to the game… ur, shit, almost forgot to introduce myself. I'm Blaze."  
  
I don't want to tell some stranger my name, even though from his height and build, I'd say that he's around 19, like me. I turn to my quick wit for some shitty answers.  
  
"Alice."  
  
"Nice name. Nice to meet you."  
  
"Ur… same here."  
  
"Want to play some more? Or are you a little tired?" Blaze pointed to the DDR machine. After my thought processed some simple logic, my positive attitude toward him drops out to negative one thousand and maxed 300.  
  
"No… thanks."  
  
"Are you sure? You were doing great back there. I've seen newcomers failed faster than you did."  
  
Was I now, or is he just getting on to me? Let me guess. I little bit from column A, and hell a lot from column B. You're blushing, dumb fuck.  
  
"I'll pay for your game."  
  
Fuck me for being a poor sap.  
  
So through out the morning, he had taught me not to follow what the game instructions said, to alternate my feet, to follow the rhythm instead of the arrows. I'm sure that someone had said to some friend who was playing on this very same DDR machine before. I also remembered clearly that no one had ever told me these instructions before that day, because technically, I had no friends, thanks to my social anxiety disorder and my parent's reluctance to admit that I have a "problem" and that I need a therapist.  
  
I felt surprised that instead of cursing at the machine, now I'm more concerned about hitting the back arrow accurately. By the end of the hour, I was finally able to pass Only You on my own without having Blaze dishing out fancy maniac steps next to me to keep my groove bar alive.  
  
After a few hours of sweaty exercise, Blaze complimented me for great games and jogged out of the building. It was only then that I realized if everyone else was suppose to be in class, so should he be… and my women's instinct told me that he did not have his lecture canceled. 


	5. Stage 5: Paranoia Rebirth

Stage 5: Paranoia Rebirth  
  
From that day on, my growing addiction toward the game was certain. Every now and then I would play a game or two before dragging my brother back home for dinner, and every now and then I would go to the arcade on my own just to go "DDRing", as some of the "locals" who practically live next to the machine would say.  
  
Of course, being who I am, I never try to converse with these strangers. SAD is like mind glue – you can hardly spit a word out without processing your sentence through the brain some one hundred and eighty times. However, for some strange reasons, I got along with Blaze pretty well. Perhaps it was because he was a good conversationalist, or just the fact that he's blatantly interested in fucking me… either way, he helped me pull through Butterfly, he helped me get the groove on Let The Heat Beat Em… he seemed to know the people who played the game as well, as he always tried to introduce me to fellow "DDRers" when I was with him in the arcade. To my own surprise, I did not hesitate to ask Blaze about the person that led me into the game.  
  
"He is Fox." was all that he said to me, and all that he needed to say to me. Everyone around him fell into the same solemn, holy mood. It seemed that everyone had respect for him… and as for me, physical admirations.  
  
The mundane school days go on, and one day as we were waiting in line to get our grooves on the machine, Blaze brought up an interesting topic on one of our usual "DDR chats".  
  
"There is a tournament coming up in AI this weekend. Do you want to go and see? I'd invite a couple of friends and we can go together. It'd be fun!"  
  
It was then that the original idea of DDR being a game for "dumb fuck monkeys" crept back into my head. I led myself to accept the picture of playing on a DDR machine because of the exercise that I get. I could not accept the fact that a group of dancing monkeys would gather and all compete to see who is "monkier". That was just not right.  
  
"I'll pay for gas and dinner before the tournament."  
  
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck my wallet!  
  
1.1.1 Stage 6: Dream a Dream  
  
Arcade Infinity is actually more of a arcade machine vendor than an arcade operator. Granted that their machines are all the newest of the stock, the floor was unpolished, the place was filled with the stench of sweat, and the lighting made state penitentiaries look like a decent place to live. However, the tournament changed everything negative about the place: the floor was covered by the feet of masses of onlookers and competitors waiting to step into the spotlight for their fifteen minutes of fame on the DDR machine.  
  
Blaze took off shortly after we all arrived at AI. He came back with a stack of tokens and a disappointed face.  
  
"They ran out of T-shirts," he said, "they were giving away AI T-shirts for everyone who joined the tournament."  
  
"You're joining?"  
  
"Of course! It'd be fun!" Blaze was so simple minded. Everything about DDR seemed to be fun for him. Oh well, at least that made his life that much less complicated than mine.  
  
By the time that we're done with the talking and ready to jam ourselves into the seas of audiences that blocked our view from the tournament center ground, the first section of the tournament – perfect attack – was in full force. I'd never imagined that yellow would ever become my favorite color, but seeing others hitting yellow on almost every step on a manic song was an eye opening experience. And it looked as if everyone who stepped onto the stage were programmed to get perfect steps. How much time did they all spend trending on the DDR pad? I could not even begin to fathom.  
  
The competition was bought into high heat when I heard the announcer said, "Next up, Fox…"  
  
And there he was, perfection in front of my eyes yet again. I could have sworn that I would go up, drag him by the shirt, and rape him in front of the crowd… but who am I to disturb the cloud of religious silence generated by his presence?  
  
Fox gracefully stepped onto the stage, hopped once or twice to get his feet going, and when the selection screen pops up, picked Rhythm and Police.  
  
The crowd fell into silent awe. Anyone who played DDR and have a pea brain knew that Rhythm and Police would not be a walk in the park like Kick The Can. And yet, defying the limitations of strength and stamina, he picked Rhythm and Police… he was my hero…  
  
The screen blacked out. The song loaded and launches its devastating continuous fury of maniac steps. All eyes focused on Fox, who swayed around like he could mop the floor with his feet. In came the deadly gallops, and his feet tapped like a machine.  
  
ta-tap, ta-tap, ta-tap, ta-tap…  
  
And as he pushes the final step on the dance pad, he stood in his place and did not move a muscle. A few seconds later, the crowd went wild as the game displays his score. The tournament officials typed in the data with excitement.  
  
"ninety seven point eight five, folks! This is by far the best record we have so far!"  
  
I wanted to talk to Fox before he disappeared back into the crowd. My body moved itself without permission from the brain. At that point, I really didn't care what I'd do once I found him. So long as I get to see him… talk to him…  
  
"and up next, Blaze…"  
  
My footsteps froze again. 


End file.
